


Waking Up in Albuquerque

by NeoNails



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: Bullet Wounds Suck, Episode: s02e27 Don't Cry for Me Albuquerque, F/M, Friendship, Future Romance, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoNails/pseuds/NeoNails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary was no stranger to pain. She'd been through it all at one point or another. But when she woke up, she was possessed with total and utter fear. And then she saw Marshall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up in Albuquerque

**Author's Note:**

> This is obviously pretty old, as it was written shortly after the season 2 finale. I'm in the process of transferring some/most of my works from ff.net to here, so in the meantime here's an oldie but a goodie!

_And I know that it's so cliché_  
 _To tell you that every day  
_ _I spend with you is the new best day of my life_

\- "Must Have Done Something Right," by Relient K

 

* * *

U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon was no stranger to pain. Emotional, mental, physical…she'd been through it all at point or another.

Her father left her at the tender age of 6 with an alcoholic mother and a baby sister. Things never got easier for her. When she was finally accepted as a Marshal, she accepted a government job that made the Secret Service look like Angel's food cake. She would spend almost all of her time in her office, protect every kind of scum and defenseless victim that walked through those doors, and tell exactly no one what she did for a living.

And she relished _every last second of it._

But when she woke startled out of a deep… something, she was possessed with total and utter _fear_. She was more terrified than when she had been kidnapped and nearly raped just a few months ago. She wasn't in a dangerous situation- she was in a bed, hooked up to several dozen wires, some beeping in the background, in a small, square white room. It wasn't the _where_ that put the fear of God into her atheist self- it was the _how_ and _why._

_How_ did she get here? _Why_ didn't she remember anything past yelling at Raph for starring in that _stupid_ commercial? And why did her stomach hurt so Goddamn much?

When she finally noticed her body's new aches, she nearly started gagging on the thing shoved in her mouth and she struggled with clumsy hands to remove the forsaken thing from her face. This only served to set off several alarm-like beeps, but she really didn't give a rat's ass if she pissed the stupid computer off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Suddenly, Marshall- Marshall Mann, her partner and best friend- came into view and grabbed her wrists. Not hard, in fact, they were so gentle- just enough pressure to get her to stop touching that thing- that she almost forgot her strict, no-invading-Mary's-personal-space rule. She didn't remember him ever touching her like that.

"Hey, Mare," he said softly, pushing the mask down so it was around her neck and no longer obstructing her view. "I didn't realize you woke up until you started flailing." He smiled slightly, that warm grin that was so Marshall, one part sweet and three parts all-knowing, like he could read her mind and know her response before she even bothered to open her mouth.

And there was just _something_. Something about that smile, about this situation, about _her_ situation, but suddenly, she found herself fighting back tears and sobs and all that crap that she _never_ did in front of _anyone_ unless she absolutely had to…why was he doing this to her?

She tried to say something- something flippant that would make her stop wanting to cry and hug him, and maybe feel more like herself- but all that came out was a choking, gasping cough that she didn't even realized came from her throat until Marshall stopped smiling and murmured, "Here, your throat must be dry. Drink some water." He turned around and reappeared with a plastic cup.

He guided the cup to her open lips, and when the water- that cool, sweet, delicious water- hit her tongue, she realized how damn _thirsty_ she was. She drank the entire cup in three big gulps, and Marshall almost tripped over himself to grab a giant jug and pour more out for her. That inspired another tightening feeling in her heart, and a tingling sharpness in the backs of her eyes.

But she refuses to start crying right now, and just settles for taking all her emotions out on inhaling as many cups of water as Marshall can pour for her.

After the eighth cup of water, she finally lets her head fall back against the three or more pillows that are keeping her semi-propped up on the uncomfortable bed from hell she was given. That just jolted her head, which stopped and started sluggishly, reminding her invariably of her temperamental baby. She loved that damned car, even though she was pretty sure it hated her half the time.

Glancing up at Marshall, she knitted her eyebrows together. Trying for normalcy, she snapped, "What the hell happened to you? You look like your ass handed to you and then came back for more."

He laughed at her, shaking his head, and she realized (she seemed to be doing a lot of that…) that his hair wasn't encased in that perfect wave that probably took an hour and a buttload of hair gel to accomplish. Instead, his hair was messy and some of it was falling in his face. For some bizarre and unknown reason, she longed to push it away so she could properly see his weird hazel eyes. It had to be the drugs. She didn't even know how she got here, or why she was in so much pain… but she knew that whatever the flying duck was going on, she had to be on some heavy-duty drugs to make her head pulsate like that and her entire body feel all fuzzy and blurred, like a bad Polaroid from the '70s.

"Luckily, you happen to be in the same boat for once," he said, eyes twinkling as he pushed some of her long blonde hair out of her face, just like she had been itching to do to him just moments ago.

"About that," Mary said, and attempted to push herself up into a sitting position with her elbows. _Attempted_ being the key word, as all she managed to do was rumple her sheets, make the computers beep at her more, and make her fall back against her pillows. Again. This whole essentially-immobilized thing was extremely getting on her nerves.

"You really shouldn't move around a lot right now. They want you to heal, and that means not opening the stitches."

"What the hell?" she snapped, giving him her best evil eye she could manage under the circumstances. "What, am I freakin' paralyzed or something? Why the hell can't I get up?!"

Marshall winced at her words, and the pain and fear that flashed across his face actually made her stop in her metaphorical tracks. "Please don't say that again," he said, and she noticed that the hand that was still hovering by her left arm was shaking uncontrollably.

He was afraid for her.

That made her afraid, too.

"What the hell happened to me, Marshall?" she asked, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Why can't I remember anything?"

He stared into her eyes, those bizarre, greenish-gray eyes boring into her soul, clearly wracked with guilt and suffering. "Now's not the time, Mare," he said. His voice was even quieter than hers, the deep octave resonating through her. He pressed his open palm- still shaking- against her face, cupping her jaw, and she was caught momentarily breathless by how warm and comforting just having his hand on her face was.

After a few seconds that felt like eternity, in the best way possible, Marshall leaned back, still not removing his hand from her skin, and put on a happy smile. "Let me go get Jinx and Brandi and Raph- they've been waiting all this time for you to wake up."

He went to pull away, and before she could think twice, she had her hand around his wrist, keeping him from moving. "Wait," she said, "Can we just- wait a little longer? I-I don't think I'm ready to see them yet."

She gripped his wrist with both hands, setting off more bells and whistles, but that was small potatoes compared to the ringing in her brain. But when Marshall smiled down at her, kneeling on what had to be the hard and unforgiving linoleum-tiled floor, she couldn't help melting into his hand, just a little more.

"You know, don't start spouting off Shakespeare or any of that shit," she began, turning her head so his hand was trapped between her and the pillow, and she could look him in the eye, "But I'm kind of happy that your ugly mug was the first one I saw when I woke up." She mustered a half-decent version of her usual cocky, sarcastic grin, but she could still feel the fear that lurked in the back of her heart, ready and waiting to crush that teeny bud of hope that was welling up inside her.

He smiled, a 100-percent genuine smile that left butterflies dancing in her extremely jacked-up belly, and reached over with his free hand to cup the other side of her face. He leaned over then, and pressed the sweetest, gentlest kiss she'd ever received to her chapped lips. "Me too, Mare," he whispered when he pulled away, still smiling. "Me too."

She couldn't stop the dopey, jubilant grin from spreading across her face. God, she loved being a Marshal.

And she loved her Marshall, too.


End file.
